Chapter 8

No pants are the best pants.

-T-shirt

Hancock

My ass was dragging.

It literally hurt to stand, but upon hearing some other man’s voice in the house I was sleeping in, I forced myself to get up.

Then I forced myself to walk into the unfamiliar living room and face off with a man who looked like a freakin’ Sunday school teacher with his starched pants and button-down shirt.

Hell, even his tie was annoying with its stupid purple stripes.

I owned one suit and three shirts that could pass as dress up.

When I went out to formal events—which I tried really hard to get out of if it was at all possible—I got my personal assistant to find me something to wear.

This man, though? Yeah, he looked like he lived in formal clothes.

“Thank you,” Sway smiled, interrupting my thoughts. “He’s…difficult.”

I snorted and moved to the couch, crumpling onto it the moment it was close enough for me to collapse on.

“Are you going to be able to play today?” she asked, looking at me warily.

I opened my eyes that I hadn’t realized I’d closed and stared at her blankly.

“I don’t have a game today,” I said. “I have a game tomorrow.”

“No,” she shook her head. “You’ve been passed out for a day and a half. All day yesterday you did the whole fever, in and out of consciousness thing. Today is game day.”

I groaned.

“I guess so,” I muttered. “This should be fun.”

“You know there’s a backup catcher for a reason,” she informed me.

I shrugged.

“Yeah,” I said. “But even sick, I’m still better than him.”

I snorted.

“Croft is good. In fact, given time, I think he could be excellent,” she admitted. “You could be nice and show him the ropes. Teach him some stuff.”

I gave her a look that clearly said what I thought about her opinion.

“And train him for my job?” I asked skeptically. “I think not.”

She sighed and took a seat on the couch next to me.

“So I noticed your wall.”

She promptly blushed profusely.

“I might or might not be your biggest fan.”

I’d seen her Fathead of me on the way out the door to confront the douchebag.

It was a photo of me in my away colors, staring at the pitcher with a look of pure frustration and anger on my face. I remembered the game that it was taken at. I’d been hit twice each time I was at bat, and I was on ball three of four.

On ball four, I’d swung anyway. I’d connected with it, and had hit it straight out of the fucking park. The Fathead was of me, mid swing.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I just was surprised to see a life-sized sticker of myself on your wall, that’s all.”

And I was humbled.

That wasn’t a new addition. Neither were the stats she had next to the sticker.

She liked me, and where it would’ve normally turned me off, it only turned me on more.

The proximity of her body to mine was amazing, and I wanted to reach out and run my hand along the exposed skin of her thigh.

She was wearing a pair of jeans, but those jeans had a hole in them from about an inch below her pocket all the way to the top of her knee. It was more than obvious that the distressed denim was meant to be that way, but my mind couldn’t get over the fact that she had a hole in her jeans.

One very close to her crotch.

If I got overzealous, I could rip those fuckers from that hole all the way to her pretty pussy, follow suit with her panties, and bend her over before taking her from behind.

My cock started to stiffen, surprising me.

I was amazed that I could get it up with how truly shitty I felt.

None of my other body parts seemed to work, but, apparently, my cock functioned better than the rest of my body.

“You want anything for breakfast?” she asked when the silence continued.

“Donuts sounds good,” I mumbled. “What time is it?”

“Ten.”

My eyes snapped open.

“Mother fucker.”

“What?” she asked in alarm.

“My dog. I need to go let her out.” I started to get up.

She patted my hand.

“I called Gentry from your phone and asked him yesterday if he could take care of your dog,” she soothed. “He took her home and brought you some clothes.”

She looked pointedly at my boxer briefs, and her face started to flush pink.

The moment she touched my hand, I got harder. So, sue me.

What the hell did she expect? She was hot as fuck, and I wanted to fuck her. Tell my dick to behave around a combination like that.

“Donuts?” she squeaked.

I leaned forward, and then rocked twice before I found my way to my feet.

“Let me get dressed. Have I had any meds?” I asked on my way to her room.

“Your clothes are in the opposite room,” she whispered. “And yes, you’ve had meds. But you’re due for Tylenol and Ibuprofen in about forty minutes.”

I looked at the other room she was indicating with her finger, and then smiled.

“Did I mention I sleep walk?” I asked, laughter filling my voice.

She rolled her eyes.

“No,” she drawled. “I don’t think you mentioned it.” She smiled genuinely. “But I know…now. Turns out, I had to learn it the hard way.”

***

Four hours later, I was warming up for the game.

I hadn’t had the energy to practice beforehand, and my fucking glove was still missing.

Not to mention I still hadn’t gotten a kiss from a certain someone.

“You look pretty puny today,” Gentry observed as he walked up behind me.

Since Gentry had started last game, he couldn’t start today. Meaning he wasn’t dressed in his gear like everyone else.

Instead, he was in a blue warm-up slicker, his baseball pants, and tennis shoes.

“Thanks for bringing my shit and taking care of Ruby.” I hopped up from my squatting position and rocketed the ball to second base.

My whole fucking body screamed as I did it, and I wondered idly if I’d be able to make it through the whole game.

When the coach went to toss me another ball, I waved him off.

“If I keep it up, I’ll have nothing left for the game,” I promised him. “I’m done.”

The coach nodded, knowing not to bother arguing when I’d do what I wanted anyway.

“Maybe a donut will give you some energy?” Gentry offered his half-eaten donut.

I shook my head.

“I’ve already had two of Sway’s donuts, which has definitely not been in my diet plan,” I muttered. “Gonna be working that off for weeks.”

Gentry snorted and turned to walk with me back to the locker rooms.

“Find your glove yet?” he queried.

I shook my head, anger flooding through me.

“No,” I grumbled. “Coach is supposed to review the locker room feed, but since it was in the dressing area, it’s not going to have it unless the fucker was stupid enough to walk out with it in his hands.”

Gentry hummed.

“That is a pain in the ass,” he said. “At least you have your backup glove.”

At least.

Had I had to buy a brand new one, it would’ve been disastrous.

Breaking in a baseball glove took time. Time I didn’t have when I was at the beginning of the season.

“I…”

“Hancock!” Sway called, interrupting what I had to say next. “I have a present for you!”

Sway’s voice had a way of making me pay attention to her and only her. The moment I heard her call my name, every single cell in my body was quivering in anticipation.

“Yeah?” I asked.

She came to a stop in front of me, and then started digging through her bag.

“Couple of things, actually.” She smiled at Gentry. “Hi, Gentry. I see you found the donuts.”

Gentry hummed as he took another bite of said donut.

“Good, thanks. Shipley’s makes my favorite kind.” He shoved the rest into his mouth.

Sway smiled.

“Shipley’s is everyone’s favorite,” I pointed out.

Gentry shrugged. “I’ll talk to you in a minute. I want to talk to someone.”

He left, and I watched as he walked to the reporter, Amity Lee, who was busy doing an interview with Furious George, our outfielder.

“Whatcha got for me?” I tried to peek into the bag.

She waved me into her office, and then closed the door.

The office was one of those with the glass doors, so although she’d closed it and nobody could hear us, they could most definitely see us unless we closed the blinds, and not one of the players in the locker room made it a secret that they were watching us.

Furious George. Gentry. Rhys. Manny.

They were all watching, most of them chatting about what they thought was going on.

Turning my back to the door so I couldn’t see them, and they could no longer see the desk since I was standing in front of it, I waited.

She didn’t disappoint.

“I got you a few things to bring your energy levels up,” she chirped. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

“Vicodin and Dilaudid,” I answered. “And unless you have either of those things to give me, I think I’ll be okay.”

She grinned at me.

“That’s definitely not one of my presents for you,” she teased.

Then she held out a red Gatorade, a vitamin C supplement called Airborne, and a muffin.

“They’re supposed to boost your Vitamin C and give you a little extra energy,” she explained. “Kind of like having a Red Bull, but without the caffeine that’ll make your heart race.”

I nodded in understanding.

“How many of these do I take?” I asked, holding up the vitamin C supplements.

“The bottle says you can take up to four,” she explained. “But I usually take three, and I feel a difference. You’re not much bigger than me…”

I gave her a look that clearly said to shut up, and she snapped her mouth closed.

“Four,” she reiterated.

I grinned and opened the bottle, popping four of the most disgusting pills that I’d ever tasted.

“Gross,” I gagged as I washed them down with the Gatorade. “Thank you.”

She waved away my thanks.

“The muffin is good, but it might take some time to eat it all. It’s really rich.” She gestured to the last thing in my hand.

I peeled the wrapper off it and took a large bite.

The flavor burst in my mouth, and I contemplated moaning as the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted made its way down my throat.

“This is good,” I told her. “Did you make this?”

She shook her head. “No. My mom did.”

I moaned and took another bite, my eyes popping open wide as I stared at the little crack-filled muffin.

“This is probably going straight to my ass,” I mumbled just before taking another bite. “It tastes like chocolate cake.”

“It’s more like a brownie cake, icing drizzled all over type of thing. Although there is some protein powder in there,” she added.

I smiled. She started to giggle at what I was sure were my teeth. I couldn’t find it in me to care at that point, though.

“She should go into business making these,” I muttered. “I’d buy one a day if she did.”

Sway laughed and tapped the paper that the muffin had come in.

“She does.” She pointed at a sticker that was wadded up. “She owns It’ll Do Bakery and Treats on Tyler Street.”

“That place is new, isn’t it?” I asked.

The reason I knew anything about it at all was I’d seen an ad next to an article I’d been reading in the sport’s section in the newspaper. What had held my attention, though, was that she specialized in products directed more towards athletes.

Sway nodded. “She opened up a couple of months ago, but already she’s done better than anyone expected her to. Though that might have a lot to do with the fact that my brother is a major league baseball player, and in the paper, they may have mentioned that fact.”

I shrugged. “Whatever works, I say.”

She grinned.

“Your head feeling any better?” she questioned.

I shook my head, and now that she’d drawn attention to the fact, I could say that I didn’t feel any better at all.

“Not even a little bit,” I admitted. “Fucking headache from hell. Who the hell gets colds like this during the summer?”

Her lip quirked up.

“Obviously, you do,” she pointed out.

“Yo, Sway!”

I turned to find Ronnie Hamels, one of the relief pitchers, come up to Sway with a look of adoration on his face.

It took everything in me not to snarl at him in annoyance.

“Yes, Hamels?” she smiled sweetly.

“I need you to wrap my wrists, please.” He showed me his hand. “Is that okay?”

He looked back and forth between Sway and I, and I had to sigh in understanding.

“We’re not busy,” I informed him. “Thank you, Sway. The muffin’s good. And the Gatorade, as well.”

She smiled happily.

“I’m glad. Don’t forget to take your meds, okay?” she pushed. “And you can have that every six hours.” She pointed at the meds. “Promise. They may taste like crap, but they’re worth it.”

With that last parting comment, she patted Hamel’s shoulder and started walking into the training room, leaving me staring after her as the two of them spoke more easily than Sway and I ever had.

What I didn’t see, though, was sexual attraction.

At least I had that going for me.

Maybe I was closer than I thought I was.

***

An hour and a half later, I was suited up and ready to go on the field. The only thing missing was my glove and my kiss…both of which I wanted more than my next breath.

The glove because I just plain wanted my glove back. It was mine and somebody took it from me. They violated my privacy, stole my property and nearly ruined my hitting streak.

My kiss was important because the game that I’d first kissed Sway had been the first game in a long time when I got on base every single at bat.

And since only two things had changed, and only one of those things had been a good thing, I knew exactly what I needed to do.

Which was why I was winding through the halls of the complex looking for a slippery brunette with curves that set my blood on fire.

“Excuse me,” I stopped a janitor. “Have you seen the athletic trainer? Medium height,” I gestured with my hand to my shoulder. “Curvy. Big…”

“If you say tits, I will kill you,” Sway said with amusement from in front of me.

I snorted and turned, totally dismissing the janitor as I took in Sway from in front of me.

Today, she was in khaki pants that fit her like a second skin, showing off all of her generous curves so perfectly that I had half a mind to take a picture so I could use it as my wallpaper.

That might be a little too much for her at this point, though, so I reigned myself in and took in the rest of her attire.

Her top half was covered up by a green and white polo—the Lumberjacks’ colors—that was so tight that her breasts strained the material and made the buttons struggle to hold her shirt closed.

Then there was the hat, hiding the upper half of a complicated French braid that looked like it’d take a million years to do.

It was one of those hairdos like one would see on a bride at her wedding. Not the normal kind of French braid that I’d always seen.

“I like your hair,” I blurted.

Her face flushed.

“What can I help you with?” She started to walk past me.

I moved so that I was in step next to her, keeping the same pace she was as we started to wind our way back to the top of the complex.

“I wasn’t gonna say your tits were big,” I informed her, rubbing my beard.

“Then what were you going to say?” She waited.

I smiled and let her think it was something bad, but in all reality, it wasn’t. Not even a little bit.

When she made an impatient sound, I decided to put her out of her misery.

“Your eyes,” I said with a chuckle.

She rolled those big blue eyes toward me with calculation in their depths, and I stared right back, letting her see the sincerity in mine.

“You’re bad,” she sighed. “But really. What was it you needed from me?”

We’d just topped the last set of stairs, and I stopped her with a hand on her arm before she could open the stairwell door that would lead to the training room as well as the locker room.

Her eyes widened when I crowded her body close.

“What are you doing?” she asked worriedly, frantically trying to push me away from her.

“I’m doing what I’ve got to do,” I told her.

“And what, exactly, is it that you ‘got to do’?” she asked warily.

“I’ve got to win,” I pointed out. “And to win, I have to collect on my kiss.”

She licked her lips nervously. “That’s probably not why you won last game.”

I looked at her.

“Someone stole my glove,” I told her.

She nodded.

“Yeah, so?” she shivered when I moved my hand up to cup her elbow.

My hand traveled up her arm, disappearing underneath the sleeve of her polo shirt as I explained.

“My glove was stolen. I was sick. And I had a high potential of having a really shitty game,” I pointed out.

“Uh-huh.” Her eyes were heavy lidded as I let my fingers trail along the strap of her bra.

My hard body pushed into her soft, pliable flesh from breasts to knees, and she started to breathe heavier. Her breasts rising and falling with each inhale and exhale.

“What I’m trying to say,” I murmured. “Is that it could have been very bad. But it wasn’t…because of one single thing.”

Her eyes found mine and I started to lower my head.

“And what was that?” she whispered.

I smelled the cinnamon before I tasted it on her lips, and the moment our flesh met, I knew that things would never be the same.

I’d kick ass at this game, and any other game, if she was there to do this one single thing for me each and every time I played.

Knew it with as much surety as I was sure I’d draw my next breath.

Her hands found my shoulders, and then went even further to wrap around my neck as she leaned into the kiss.

But before it could get too out of hand, the door beside us slammed open, and would’ve hit us had I not caught it before it could.

Luckily, the door hid us from view, because as I moved my face away from hers, licking my lips as I went, I knew it would’ve been more than obvious what we were doing.

Her face was red from my beard. Her lips swollen.

Her eyes were glazed, and her breathing was still heavy.

She was the epitome of aroused.

She didn’t hide her feelings at all.

“Gotta go, Half-Pint,” I touched her nose. “See you in the dugout.”

With those last words, I let the door go, moved around it, and then jogged down the long hallway that led to the locker room.

And the entire freakin’ way I had to force myself not to turn back.

She was addicting indeed.